The moon was a blade in the sky—silver, sharp, waiting to fall.
Below it, in the hidden gardens of the Palazzo Rosso, Esmé stood barefoot in the center of a warded circle, her pulse matching the slow, steady thrum of the Veil. Lines of white ash coiled around her, and in her hand she held a single crystal rod, cool to the touch and humming with potential.
She had not slept since the attack.
There was no time for sleep anymore.
Only preparation.
Only power.
Livia's voice sliced through the darkness.
"Focus. Again."
Esmé exhaled and pressed her palm to the crystal.
Her blood responded—not in pain, but in recognition. It sang through her fingertips, met the crystal's silence, and flooded it with memory. This time, she didn't flinch.
She felt the Veil.
Not just brushing it—but stepping inside.
And it no longer resisted her.
She saw lines of energy weaving through the earth—sigils buried beneath the foundations of Florence, echoing spells older than the city itself. She saw the leyline beneath the Palazzo, glowing with coiled potential, a tethered beast.
And when she opened her eyes, the crystal burned white-hot in her hand.
Livia's breath hitched.
"You're syncing faster."
Esmé nodded.
Her skin pulsed with warmth, her heart no longer racing in fear, but in readiness.
"I can feel it," she said. "All of it. Not just the threads of power—but where they're broken. Where they've been pulled."
Livia stepped into the circle, her expression unreadable.
"You're not just a Veilborn," she said. "You're a Catalyst."
Esmé blinked. "What does that mean?"
"It means you don't just walk the boundary," Livia murmured. "You shape it. Your blood doesn't just resist the Veil—it stitches it. That's why the Crimson Faith fears you."
"And the Council?" Esmé asked.
"They fear you too. But they're slower to admit it."
————————————————————
Later, Luca met her on the roof of the Palazzo—one of the few places she could breathe.
Florence sprawled below them, unaware of the war blooming beneath its feet. The bells of the Duomo tolled faintly in the distance, and lanterns danced along the river.
"You're different," Luca said, watching her carefully.
"I feel different."
He nodded. "Power changes people."
Esmé turned to him. "Does it have to?"
"No. But it tests them. The more you hold, the more the Veil reflects what you carry. If you walk into it with anger, it feeds you wrath. If you carry grief, it gives you visions of fire. It wants to know what you are."
Esmé tilted her head. "And what do you carry?"
He smiled faintly. "Memory. Regret. Hope, sometimes."
She studied him for a long moment. "I carry light."
"I know," he said. "I can feel it."
She stepped toward him then, and he didn't move.
"Will you fight beside me?" she asked.
"Until the end."
————————————————————
Training changed after that.
She no longer just copied sigils—she created them. Her drawings glowed before ink touched them. Her breath bent air. Her footsteps silenced rooms.
Even the Council began to visit her sessions.
Anselmo brought scrolls long hidden. Livia crafted blades of shadow and bone for her to test against. Fiora—braver now than ever—helped construct a sanctuary beneath the forge in case the city above fell.
"You're becoming a legend," Fiora said one night as they sharpened a charm made of quartz and salt. "Like in the stories we read when we were children."
Esmé smiled, though it was a quiet one.
"I'm not trying to become a legend," she said. "I'm just trying to survive."
———————————————————
The final phase of her training came two nights before the Solstice.
She was taken beneath the Palazzo, past the Council chambers, through a hidden gate carved with veiled faces and script that shimmered when she stepped near it.
Beyond the gate was the Pool of Echoes.
The water was dark, motionless, resting in a hollowed chamber lit by torches that did not flicker.
"This is where we test what lives within," Luca said.
She turned to him.
"If you've buried something, the Pool will show it."
She stepped forward without hesitation and knelt before the water.
When she leaned over it, her reflection changed.
Not into a monster.
But into herself, cloaked in red.
Eyes gold with power.
Hands wet with blood.
The vision smiled at her.
"You think you can save him," it said.
Esmé didn't flinch.
"I will."
Then the water rippled—and her reflection vanished.
————————————————————
Later, Luca found her seated on the library steps, the charm around her neck glowing faintly.
"She saw you," he said softly. "The other Esmé."
"I know."
"Did she frighten you?"
"No," she whispered. "She reminded me of who I could become. And who I won't."
He sat beside her. They were close now, always close, but this time he didn't hold back.
He touched her hand.
She let him.
"You may have to kill Valtheran," he said.
"I'm ready."
"You may have to kill me."
She turned her head. "I won't."
"You may not have a choice."
"I'll make one."
Their fingers intertwined.
The Veil stirred around them.
Light shimmered along the library walls.
And for a moment, Esmé saw it:
Florence—burning and rising.
The crimson dawn.
And herself, standing between two worlds—
Not afraid.
But alight.